.
The engineer ambled about , rolling up chords , clinking about in his tool box , generally doing things he had all day to do.
Rob and I wrestled the three huge bags uphill on their trolleys with an overheated winch and strapped them down. We were sweating in the chilly air and our breaths fogged the windshield. We probably only had one generator so the defroster was not an option. The weak brake troubled me.
Sure it had been getting worse over the last four months as it countered crosswinds in Masset and Sandspit from where we hauled live crabs to Vancouver. But it sure was bad at the wrong time.
I heard the doors thump shut and Rob locked the handle but out my window I could see Piggy the Engineer heading for the mess hall.
He walked right by the wheel that was only half rebuilt. It hadn't been touched all day.
The Bristol was long gone. He had his diesel fuel pumped out quickly and with three con bags took off for Wrangell just ahead of the huge cloud of snow and dirt with it's engines performing flawlessly.
On our return trip we were to bring back a full load of groceries ... a back breaking nightmare.
We rumbled down the Iskut , past Hoodoo , past the confluence with The Stikine and through the squeezing ridges. We had heard the Bristol call here.... low level .. at The Shakes.
The bags shook down and the straps loosened as we thumped through the turbulence as we hit the warm coastal air .. only to land with full on but ineffective right brake.
Once again , it didn't take the Bristol Freighter very long to pump in the diesel and roar off Eastbound as Rob and I humped five tons of groceries .. up the hill.
Some with the winch , some by hand.
The inflight meal as we flew Eastward into the cold , biting air , was smoked oysters , as we tore into a few boxes to find the crackers.
We were on the bleeding edge of technology.
.
The Bristol was off on her third trip when I landed. The uphill strip precluded the use of brakes but I knew , when I turned at the top , that I was licked.
The brakes were pooched. Piggy ambled by conveniently after we had unloaded the groceries. I couldn't even finish telling him of our difficulty when he started blubbering excitedly about todays decision by the mine management to bring in a DC4 from Alaska under a temporary Operating Certificate.
It was to arrive before dark.
The wind had died down somewhat and the weather improved just as my airplane was not flyable any more.
The Bristol did a final trip and was buttoned up, wing covers on and plugged with heaters. Things were going well for them and they eagerly awaited the arrival of the DC4. They knew the crew from previous contracts.
Piggy babbled on about about how they required his services and that from now on he was to collect two paychecks , one from us and one from the DC4 company. His eyes seemed even closer together than before.
M3 engineers were scarce and he knew it.
I had to stop the left jab that was on its way to the side of his snout with a planned follow-up right overhand clubbing punch to the ear.
Instead , I stared into his tiny raisin-like eyes.
I had to think fast.
And I did.